


yeah? good.

by sambumblebee



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Ass-Kicking, Bounty Hunting, Comfort, Din Djarin - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Descriptions of Violence, Trans Character, anyone can read this, but definitely transmasculine, din djarin really enjoys making you feel good, din is a little too into watching you kick ass, din is a protective bastard, i am a trans man therefore the character is transmasc - not explicitly male, just know that before you read, you are a bounty hunter and mechanic who now travels with the Mandalorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sambumblebee/pseuds/sambumblebee
Summary: You and the Mandalorian track a bounty together. Things go a little sideways, and he wants to make it up to you in his own way.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 115





	yeah? good.

**Author's Note:**

> an important note: i am a trans male. by extension, this was written from the point of view of a transmasculine character. if you are not a transmasc person, by all means, read away. just know that this is the perspective i wrote it from.

You hadn’t meant for this to happen. But when did anything ever go your way? You’ve only been a bounty hunter for a year. You know how to fend for yourself, of course - a person living in a busy city populated with both ex-Imps and rebels needs to know how to handle a blaster and throw a punch. Then everything went sideways and you went from fixing up speeders and ships to using them yourself, earning your place in the Guild by bringing in a bounty through a particularly clever trap involving faultily installed gears and a secret compartment. You didn’t have a ship of your own, so you hitchhiked when you could, stayed on-world when you couldn’t, until you came across a mysterious Mandalorian, convinced him to hire you after you proved your skills as a mechanic (who tries to fly from one end of the galaxy to the other with one engine running shakily at half power?). It had been a few months of traveling with him and his funny little kid, and he’d finally learned to open up to you, if only a little bit. In the dark, things were easier, and when the two cots are just across a tiny hallway from each other, you can’t help but form a connection. A touch on the arm here, a whispered word there, a hand reaching for you when the ship bumps unexpectedly. He cares, despite his best efforts not to.

So, naturally, when everything went to hell, you shouldn’t have been surprised at his reaction.

\--

The morning had been normal, as far as their mornings usually went. You got up with the sun to find Din already up, feeding the child with a spoon, cross legged on the floor. You smiled at him fondly as you headed across the ship to freshen up and get changed. He looked up at you as you passed.

“Good morning, bucket-head,” you said cheerfully.

He hit you in the knee in response, and you laughed, skipping past to the refresher.

“Kidding, kidding.”

Once you’d made sure the Razor Crest was sufficiently child-proofed and the kid safely stowed away, the two of you made your way into the city. You had returned home, strangely enough - this was the city you’d spent your teen years in. Simple task: pick up a bail-runner bounty, restock munitions and rations, head back. As per usual, heads turned at the sight of a Mandalorian and another bounty hunter passing by, but you paid them no mind. Din passes you the tracking fob, and you smile at him. It had taken him a whole four months to finally trust you enough to hold it. 

You follow the beeping device through the streets, leading the way with Din close behind you, navigating the twisting alleys and bustling marketplaces until the device begins to beep and flash so quickly it’s almost a solid tone. You stand in front of a metal gate looking into a dismal courtyard.

“A covert of some kind,” Din says, looking in. He taps a few buttons on the console on his forearm, scanning the courtyard. “It’s clear.”

You push on the gate, shocked to find it unlocked and open. You exchange glances. Silently, Din motions for you to stay behind him. You do, reluctantly.

The courtyard is tiny, devoid of life, dim and dank. There are three doorways, one in each wall, identical in every aspect. You both stop in your tracks, trying to get your bearings. Then the beeping hits an all-time high, and all three doors burst open, three men coming through each of them, blasters raised, coming for you at full speed.

You and the Mandalorian spring into action. You turn so that you’re back to back, circling defensively, as the aggressors try to get to you. Blasters fire, ricocheting off of beskar, knives hiss past your ear, a punch nearly lands, and you retaliate with kicks and shots of your own. You match Din’s attacks punch for punch, covering each other whenever there’s an opening. You can’t help but let out a laugh as adrenaline rushes through you, easily ducking under blows and disarming attackers like you’ve been doing this since you were born. The barrel of a pistol aims for the opening below the Mandalorian’s helmet, and as he turns to see it, almost too late, you aim your own blaster at the man and nearly tear his arm clean off at this close range. You snarl and move on to the next man, the bracers on your muscled forearms glinting in the sunlight. As you slam your boot into his gut, sending him flying, you think to yourself,  _ damn I must look good,  _ because not one person has laid a finger on you without you stopping him, and your reflexes are lighting-fast. You notice Din fighting beside you out of the corner of your eye, and you turn your back to him until you bump against him, the two of you fighting off enemies while spinning in a circle until the last one tosses a detonator at you.

Without thinking, you grab it out of the air. In slow motion, Din reaches to stop you, but you’re already hurling it skyward, and the blast goes off above you, barely out of range, making your ears ring, but otherwise leaving both of you unharmed. Din stares at you strangely, head tipped to the side, as you stand there panting, chest heaving, sweat running down your face. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was checking you out. You adjust your armor, strapping your bracer tightly, and then the last man, the bounty, rushes towards you.

In an instant, you sidestep, avoiding his charge, and knock his feet out from under him with your foot. As he scrambles to recover, you slam the butt of your blaster into his skull, knocking him out cold.

When it’s over, Din finds you with six bodies splayed out around you, the bounty unconscious under the sole of your boot. You turn to look at him with a grin, wiping blood off of your cheek, then return your blaster to its holster.

“Thought that’d be harder,” you say as you haul the man you’d tracked up and over your shoulder, grunting slightly at the effort. Not to brag, but you just kicked some  _ serious  _ ass.

Din tilts his head at you, silent for a moment. “Not bad,” he says, finally, an unfamiliar tone to his voice filtering through the modulator.

You roll your eyes. “Thanks. Let’s get this out of here.”

This time, the Mandalorian lets you lead the way, and you can’t help but feel like he’s  _ watching  _ you, though you can’t understand why. He says nothing the entire walk back to the Crest, even when you punch the buttons to put the bounty into carbonite. His silence feels different in a way you cannot explain. You take a moment to wipe your face with a damp cloth and wash your hands while Din checks on the kid. When he jumps back down from the cockpit, you’re re-tightening the straps on your armor, and he freezes for a split second, watching you. When you look up, he abruptly steps back and begins rummaging around in his bag, as if that was what he’d been doing in the first place. You frown, but don’t say anything, just shake your limbs out and wait for him to sling his bag over his shoulder and open up the hatch again.

The two of you head back into town in excruciating silence. Eventually, you have to say  _ something. _

“What are you thinking about?”

More silence.

“Did I do something wrong back there?”

“No,” he murmurs. “You… did good.” His voice sounds strained, and he won’t turn to look at you, and then you realize.

Oh.  _ Oh. _ “...that’s a first.”

“What?”

“You don’t compliment easily, that’s all. I’ve been with you, what, four months? And that’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”

He draws in a breath before speaking. “I… I’m not good with that sort of thing. But I enjoyed- you- that was... impressive.”

_ Enjoyed?  _ You raised an eyebrow. “I’m a bounty hunter, too, even if you haven’t let me show you what I can do until now.”

“I know.”

By now, you’ve reached the downtown area, and you enter the marketplace with Din to stock up on ammunition, food, and medical supplies. You try not to notice his side glances, the way that he looks you up and down when he thinks you can’t see. You smirk.  _ Enjoyed,  _ indeed. You finish your shopping and begin to head back, when Din lays a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “Why don’t I buy you a drink? To celebrate?”

“Celebrate  _ what?”  _ you ask, trying to hide how his touch made your stomach lurch.

“Today’s bounty.”

He means how much ass you kicked, he just won’t say it. You grin. “Okay, sure. Lead the way, Mando.”

You can practically  _ hear  _ the withering look he gives you, but he takes you to the nearest cantina and sits at the bar, patting the seat beside him. He orders a drink.

“Make that two,” you say to the bartender. Din starts to protest, but you silence him by saying, “You deserve one, bud. And don’t start saying something about the helmet, because I’ve got a solution.”

You pull out a straw from your satchel, and Din tilts his head back as if to say  _ are you fucking kidding me,  _ but reluctantly accepts it.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if I get laughed at, I blame you.”

“I take full responsibility.”

The bartender comes back with your drinks, and Din places a couple of credits on the table to pay. He sticks the straw in his drink with a sigh, then turns to you and raises his glass.

“To us,” you say, before he can say anything else.

“...to us,” he replies with a tremor in his voice. He clinks his glass with yours and then takes a long sip from the straw as you do the same.

You keep drinking and laughing for a while longer, riding off of the high of the fight and the fire of the alcohol on your tongue, exchanging stories and smiles, until you look up to see a stranger beside you watching something on a datapad, and you freeze in your chair, drink clutched in white-knuckled fingers. Din follows your gaze to the broadcast playing on the stranger’s screen.

The screen shows a field in flames. It could be anywhere, you think, but it’s not. The skyline in the background is too familiar, too recognizable, too close to your heart. A banner of text scrolls across the bottom of the screen, curtly telling viewers how the farmland had been destroyed by a raid of ex-Imperial troopers just hours before. Nothing remains but smoke and ash, homes reduced to pits in the ground and crops turned to ash. There is no faded white farmhouse, no homemade obstacle course made of hay bales and rusty metal barrels for a child to learn how to be just as brave and strong as their parents, no stable filled with straw and manure, no garden with metal clippers perfect for using as a blaster in a mock battle, no janky old speeder with a faded Rebellion crest painted proudly on the side, nothing but charred memories.

You had only been a child the last time you’d set eyes on that place. A single call from a suspecting Imperial-allied merchant had made your parents disappear, leaving you to gather what little you had and take the speeder into the city, scavenging off of the streets until a sympathetic mechanic took you under her wing. And then, years later, you had somehow gotten lucky enough to join this Mandalorian, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, this life was turning in your favor. How different things were, now, your eager excitement turned to focused determination, miniature shin guards now full size and scarred by knife slashes and blast marks, misplaced confidence now well-earned. Trust had been a difficult thing to gain back after the farmhouse, knowing now that anyone could turn someone in, but with Din, you were beginning to think you’d found something.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Din puts a hand on your forearm and turns your stool to face him. You didn’t realize you had been crying until he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, surprisingly tender.

He says your name gently. You’re shaking. It doesn’t feel real.

“What’s wrong?” He says this with such care that more tears fall from your eyes.

“That’s- that was..” You almost can’t choke out the words. “I know that place. I grew up there, I… and it’s… it’s  _ gone. _ ”

Gone. Moments before, you had been happily drinking with someone you cared about, and now it felt like the breath had been torn out of your lungs. The image of the chimney standing tall amongst the wreckage replays in your mind. For a moment, you are eight years old again, watching a pot of stew simmering over the fireplace as you practiced tying the knots your parents had taught you. Half-hitch, bowline, sheet bend, clove hitch, repeat. The smell of the food fills your nostrils, and you hear your father call you from the kitchen. A tear streams down your face, and Din squeezes your arm, bringing you back to reality.

“Your family?”

You shake your head. “They… they’re long gone, I just… I just can’t believe it’s  _ gone.  _ I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be this upset, I don’t know what-”

Before you can finish the sentence, Din gets up from his seat and comes so close to you that your feet hanging off of the barstool knock into the beskar on his legs. He cups your face in his gloved hands, forcing you to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat, heart rate soaring.

“Hey,” he says fiercely. “Do  _ not  _ apologize. Losing your home - that’s not  _ easy.  _ I understand. Let’s go. You don’t need to watch more of that.”

He lets his hands drop from your face, and you can’t help but miss their touch.

“Thank you,” you say shakily. You stand, and he suddenly wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Even against layers of beskar and thick fabric, it’s the most comforting thing you’ve experienced in a long, long time. You melt into his embrace, burying your head into his neck. He lays a hand on the back of your head for a moment before releasing you. Without another word, he brushes a hand over your back and leads you out of the cantina and back to the Razor Crest.

The whole walk back, Din stays right by your side, occasionally touching your shoulder or your arm to check in. Every time, it sends a shiver down your spine. The walk calms you, and you try to steady your breathing, feeling the weight of the pack on your back and the bag in your right hand to anchor you, reminding yourself that you  _ won  _ today, you got your bounty, and this news was not world-shattering, you can get through this, you  _ can.  _ You haven’t even seen your childhood farmhouse since you were ten, and it lived on in your memories. Maybe, you thought, that was why it hurt so much to see it destroyed on a pixelated screen.

When you reach the Crest, it is nearly nightfall. The day has gone by quickly, and yet it feels like it has been years since you woke up and saw Din feeding the kid breakfast on the floor. Din opens the hatch, and you follow him through, closing up behind him. The child greets you both excitedly from his little basket - it’s a miracle that he didn’t escape and manage to gnaw his way through their painstakingly crafted childproofing mechanisms. Din lifts the kid up, petting his little ears. You join them, patting his head fondly.

An hour or so later, after everything has been stored away and everyone has eaten, you climb down into the cargo bay, body feeling like it’s been filled with stones. You methodically take off your armor in the darkness, piece by piece, laying it in its crate by your cot. You remember your mother, strong and kind, giving you a child-sized set of leather armor, because it was all you’d been asking for for years, and your father’s laughter as you tried to fight him in it in the garden outside. They taught you how to keep your thumbs on the outsides of your fists, to keep your balance steady, to put your weight into your punches, to always keep your hands high to protect yourself. Your breathing has become shakier, and you try to slow it, remembering that you’re here, on the Razor Crest, and nothing has  _ really  _ changed. It’s not like you would have gone back, anyway, to the empty farmhouse, your parents buried long ago. You sigh heavily. Despite it not being quite late enough, you are ready to fall asleep and forget the second half of today.

To your surprise, you hear Din come down the ladder into the dark hall behind you. It is early for him, too, nowhere near the time either of you go to sleep on a normal day. There are no windows in the little compartment, just storage bays and a cot tucked into the wall at either end, so when the lights turn off, it is pitch black _.  _ You had made a pact with Din months earlier that when he slept here, you would never turn on the light so that he could take his helmet off at night. The lights only came on when he was helmed and ready. And, frankly, you prefer it this way, becauses then he won’t see you without your protective armor that hides your body and makes you feel more comfortable in your skin. So it should not have surprised you when you hear him set his helmet down by his cot with a small clank, followed by the sounds of beskar landing on folded fabric - his cape? You stand there, just  _ breathing,  _ not sure why you haven’t taken the two steps forward to climb into your bed.

The sound of the other cot creaking under Din’s weight, then a heavy breath. “Are- are you okay?”

You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t  _ do  _ this. He isn’t  _ like  _ this. “I… I will be. Don’t worry about me.”

He breathes heavily, something electric about this moment, you standing near your bed, him sitting ten feet away, nothing but darkness and air moving between you. He starts to speak, then stops, breath faltering in his throat, and despite yourself, you feel your heart skip a beat when he finally says, “I’m not… worried. About you. You can… definitely handle yourself.”

You remember the way he’d looked at you during the fight. He’s  _ still  _ thinking about that?

Then you hear the bed creak again, followed by soft footsteps and a rush of air as he approaches you, stopping a foot in front of you, somehow calculating the amount of steps it took to get to you perfectly, even without light.

Din whispers your name, and you can feel his breath on your neck. The sound of his voice without the modulator sends a flurry of nerves to your stomach, and you swallow, hard. He places his hands gently on your waist, not too low, not too high, ridiculously respectful, and you let him turn you around to face him.

“I only meant… I’m sorry about what happened. You deserve better,” he murmurs.

You don’t know what to say. All you can think about is the heat of his breath on your face, his bare fingers bunching up the fabric of your tunic, the unfathomable proximity of your bodies.

“You were so good today,” he whispers. “So good.”

Without thinking, you reach out to touch his face, guessing at its position from his voice. You guess right, and your fingers brush up against stubble and warm skin. You cup his face in your hands just like he had done with you earlier, marveling in how  _ real  _ he felt in your hands, how solid and warm and alive, despite everything in your mind screaming that this had to be a dream.

Din removed one hand from your waist, and you’re disappointed until he moves it to the back of your neck. And then he pulls you closer, and your lips meet, and you’re kissing, you’re being  _ kissed  _ by Din Djarin, and his lips are soft and you can’t get enough of it, the smell of him the way he leans into you and presses you close, running his fingers through your short hair.

He pulls back, leaning his forehead against yours. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You kiss him in response, then say, “Yes. More than okay.” Then you stop to think. “Is this okay for  _ you?  _ What about the code?”

He shakes his head, his hair brushing against your forehead. “Code doesn’t say anything about this. You can’t see me, that’s all that matters.”

And with that, he pushes you back to your bed, where he somehow manages to lay you down and place himself on top of you in one fluid motion. You gasp as your legs tangle together, the heat between his legs matching yours. He laughs slightly at your reaction, then shuts you up by kissing your neck, then your jawline, then your cheek, until you grow impatient and kiss him on the lips. He does not object, this time opening his mouth, and you almost can’t believe how good it feels. When he stops for breath, you whisper, “I can’t believe we waited this long. Why now?”

“Because,” he replies, shifting on top of you slightly to slot a knee between your legs, making you let out an indecent sound, “I couldn’t find the right time until now. You deserve to feel good, especially after today. And you raised hell earlier.”

“You really liked that, huh?” you say slyly.

“Mhm.” He gives you one long, drawn out, wonderful kiss, and then begins to kiss your neck again, this time leaving marks, biting at your skin in just the right way, making you arch your back involuntarily. You tug at his clothes, and he obliges, pulling off his shirt as you do the same, struggling more under his weight.

Then he goes right back and continues making a trail down your neck, then to your chest, licking your nipple and then tugging at it gently with his teeth before moving further down, achingly slow, drawing it out until you feel like you might explode if he doesn’t  _ do something. _ When he reaches your belt, you feel him hesitate. You take in a shuddering breath as he asks, “Do you… do you want me to…?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, wondering what he will think, wondering if this is a mistake, making yourself vulnerable to him, opening up, and you finally say, “I… I do, but I don’t know if… if I’m what you’re expecting.” You don’t know how else to say it, but before you can try to explain any further, he comes back up to kiss you gently.

“I don’t  _ expect _ ,” he murmurs, “anything. All I care about is  _ you. _ And making  _ you  _ happy.”

You kiss him back fiercely in a wordless  _ thank you,  _ and then he returns to his place at your hips, caressing you with warm, calloused hands.

He undoes your belt, and you raise your hips so that he can pull your pants and boxers down and toss them over the edge of the bed. The sensation of the open air on your skin makes you shiver, feeling exposed, until he places a hand on you, and you melt against his touch. His fingers make their way lower until you gasp, your back arching as he slides his fingers along your slit, and you can feel how wet his hand is from your arousal. Then he suddenly takes your legs and positions you so that your lower half is nearly hanging off of the bed, your knees hooked over his shoulders, and then his mouth is on your clit and you are completely overwhelmed by how  _ good  _ that feels. What did you do to deserve this?

As if he could hear your thoughts, Din pauses for a moment to murmur, “You’re so good. So good,” before returning, sucking on your swollen clit before inserting a finger inside you, then two. You’re already so wet that it’s almost too easy, and you let out a moan as he finds a rhythm, his fingers and his tongue working what you swear must be magic. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you hear him moan in response, so you keep doing it, your other hand clamped onto the edge of the mattress with white knuckles as he fingers you with increasing pressure.

“C-close,” you whimper, panting, body shuddering with pure pleasure, his fingers deep inside you, somehow finding that perfect spot as his mouth continues to send ecstatic shivers up your spine, nerves electric.

“Yeah? Good,” he says, his tongue leaving you for one excruciating moment, “I want you to feel good. Is this good?” He kisses the insides of your thighs, sending you into another wave of white-hot pleasure, and  _ oh my god he’s giving you hickeys there,  _ continuing to fuck you with his fingers. His tongue trails along the skin of your inner thigh, making its way closer to your slit again. When he closes his wet mouth around your clit, you hear  _ him  _ moan against you, and you feel him shifting beneath you. To your surprise, you realize that he’s kicked off his pants and is now thrusting into his own hand as he eats you out, his moans hot against your skin. Now you  _ really  _ can’t control the sounds that come out of your mouth, a string of expletives and  _ yes _ ’s and his name, until you can’t take it anymore and you climax, tipping over the edge and coming so explosively that you think you might pass out. And still, he continues to lick and kiss and fondle you, gripping your ass with one hand and his cock with the other, your legs still over his shoulders. When you regain some of your senses, you hear him increase the pace of his thrusts and then he lets out an unbelievably hot moan, still half-buried between your thighs. In the darkness, you can only see the faintest outline of his head, but you can feel him remove his fingers from you, and then you hear him lick them clean. You could almost come a second time just at the thought of him wanting to  _ taste you  _ that badly. With uncanny timing, he makes one last swipe with his tongue, making you shudder, and says “Good?”

“So good,” you breathe, still reeling post-orgasm. Taking in a deep breath, you swing your legs off of his shoulders and lean down to kiss him deeply, not caring about the messiness of it all, just wanting to show your gratitude and feel his lips on yours again. He rises up to meet you, kneeling, and you wrap your legs around him, pressing yourself up against him. You trail a hand along his side, feeling the scars that marr his skin, enjoying the way he shivers at your touch. When you drift closer to his center and find the beginning of the trail hair leading downwards, he grabs your wrist.

“What?” you ask breathlessly.

“No,” he says, kind but firm. “Tonight is about you.”

“But I want t-”

“No,” he says. He brings your hand up to his face and kisses it softly. “Another time.”

Before you can protest, he gently pushes you back onto the bed. You hear the rustle of fabric as he pulls his pants back on, and you reluctantly do the same. You begin to wonder  _ is that it? Was that a one-time thing?  _ And then he climbs into bed beside you and wraps himself around you, warm and strong, his face buried into your neck, an arm slung around your torso, legs tangled together. You try to relax, heart still fluttering, mind racing.

“Nervous?” Din murmurs.

“No,” you say, truthfully. “Just… can’t believe this is real. That you aren’t a dream, and I’ll wake up to find you gone.”

“I won’t leave you,” he says fiercely, hugging you closer.

“You better not,” you say with a hint of snark, “because I still have to return the favor.”

He laughs softly and kisses your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “So don’t you go anywhere, Mando. I pay my debts.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

With that, he gives you another squeeze, and you find yourself melting in his arms, basking in his warm embrace, until you drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> let me be sappy for a hot sec:
> 
> thank you to everyone who proofread this! grace (@finite_alright on twitter), i owe you my life and I love you dearly. she is most of the reason that this fic even exists, having come up with the premise and given me some incredibly helpful constructive criticism, so thank HER for this. @beskarbeststraw, you are lovely and i am forever grateful for your validation. bel (@andordjarin), you already know that i love you with all my heart, thank you so much <3\. carley (@mandalorianwho), your edits were much appreciated as was your love, and quiche (@jaimmelannisturd), your love and support makes my heart happy. i love you all!!
> 
> also, this is dedicated to my mlm (men loving mando) gc, you're the best <3
> 
> \-- more to come soon hopefully !! --


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